


Distraction techniques

by Deputychairman



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, Locked In, M/M, Poker, Snowed In, Spin the Bottle, all of these things lead to bickering, and also subsequent times, and the resolution of sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/pseuds/Deputychairman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser cast about in desperation, stung with the challenge. They were in a tiny, locked storeroom with only bottles and bottles of liquor for inspiration: their options for entertainment were not extensive. Really, he thought afterwards, could anyone blame him for saying the first thing that came into his head under circumstances like these? And if he knew it was a thing that would get a reaction out of Ray, well, that was neither here nor there, was it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction techniques

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Seascribe and Thisisteal for making this better, and for agreeing that a Fraser-in-handcuffs flashback was completely, totally necessary to the dramatic arc of this story.

The first time, with the first Ray Vecchio, Fraser honestly just said the first thing that came into his head to get Ray to stop complaining. Ray was pacing the room, and waving his arms, and going _on and_ _on_ , and Fraser loved him like a brother but really, everybody’s patience had its _limits_.

It was quite obvious why it should have been the first thing to spring to mind: the storeroom was stacked floor to ceiling with bottles. It was also perfectly well ventilated; sufficiently warm, and large enough for two grown men to spend the night in with only minor discomfort in the unlikely event that nobody missed them until the morning.

There might very well be a way be a way out without waiting for Diefenbaker to come back; some combination of that vodka with one of the cleaning fluids in the corner which could prove highly corrosive, or even explosive, and that would come to him if Ray would only stop _talking_ and let him concentrate.

“Did I not ask to be consulted about these things?” Ray was saying. Shouting, almost. “Because I distinctly remember, the last time you locked us in a small airless space for no good reason - ”

“Ray, if you’re referring to the bank vault, you know as well as I do that there was an extremely good reason; and moreover this room is nowhere _near_ airtight - ”

“Oh great! So we’re only looking at death by Russian mobsters – I can see why that wasn’t something you felt the need to run by me!” If he was already at sarcasm, the trajectory of this argument was looking worrying.

“And as a matter of fact you said the complete opposite,” he replied, only raising his voice enough to interrupt and lowering it again when Ray paused. “That you _didn’t_ want to know. You know Ray, if you change your mind about these things, you only have to say the word - ”

“I am saying the word, Fraser!” That was definitely shouting.

“Well I’m sorry if you feel I acted precipitously, but under the circumstances it would have been counter-productive to stop and discuss it.”

“I’m not asking for a discussion – a simple, _oh by the way, I’m about to get us locked in a storeroom so they can come back and shoot us in the morning_ would have been fine!”

“Ray, nobody’s going to _shoot_ us - ” Ray was being deliberately melodramatic.

“Because that way I coulda said no, Fraser, that sounds like a stupid plan, let’s not do that.”

Fraser sighed and forced himself to speak calmly.

“Ray, Lt Welsh knows exactly where we were going, and if we don’t return by the end of your shift he will certainly send someone to look for us.”

“Great! This just keeps getting better and better – the duck boys find us locked in a walk-in cupboard! I think I actually prefer the getting-murdered-in-the-morning option.”

He knew it wouldn’t help Ray to calm down, but he couldn’t stop himself rolling his eyes as he replied, “Ray, if you’d just calm down and let me _think_ , there might even be a way out without death or humiliation…”

“I can’t just _calm down_ like that because you say so, Fraser! I’m gonna need a minute here! I am under some stress right now – stress that you caused – so if you got any Inuit relaxation techniques up your sleeve, now would be the time to tell me about them.”

Fraser opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Ray cut him off with, “And this is the only time I want you to tell me about them. A once in a lifetime opportunity. If you try to bring up Inuit relaxation at any later point, I will not want to hear about it, ok? So just relish the chance I am giving you here, ok?”

“I really don’t think you’re approaching this with the right frame of mind, Ray.” If he pitched his tone to the exact shade of pedantry he knew Ray hated the most, surely no one would blame him in the face of such provocation?

“Oh really? Because I am _stressed_ here, and you are telling me to calm down – that seems like exactly the right frame of mind to me!  What frame of mind should I be in, according to you?” Ray’s voice was getting louder and faster and reverberating unpleasantly off the concrete walls.

 “Well, I just meant you seem predisposed to resist whatever I suggest – and I’m sorry if I’m misinterpreting your tone, but I think that if I were to tell you about the Tsimshian meditation practices, you are highly likely to be dismissive.”

It took a great effort to keep his own voice calm, but Ray’s twitch of annoyance when he managed it was its own reward.

“OK fine! Think of something else,” Ray said crossing his arms, the challenge clear.

“Something else what?”

“Something to take my mind off the fact that you have locked us in the cellar of death, you moron!”

For a moment his mind was blank.

“I spy,” he suggested.

Ray snorted.

Fraser cast about in desperation, stung with the challenge. They were in a tiny, locked storeroom with only bottles and bottles of liquor for inspiration: their options for entertainment were not extensive. Really, he thought afterwards, could anyone _blame_ him for saying the first thing that came into his head under circumstances like these? And if he knew it was a thing that would get a reaction out of Ray, well, that was neither here nor there, was it?

“Spin the bottle,” he said, and instantly regretted it. There were some things a man was best off keeping to himself. His grandmother had always impressed on him that it was unchivalrous to kiss and tell, and even if he hadn’t done any kissing for quite some time, it was clearly wiser to be discreet about the _gender_ of person he wasn’t kissing.

And it wasn’t as if the thought had never occurred to him – of course it had. When Ray leaned over his shoulder at the computer, slung a companionable arm about his shoulder, smiled at him and made fun of him with obvious affection. He couldn’t pretend not to have noticed how Ray had looked dripping from the shower, either; simply, he had noticed, filed it away, and the situation had never repeated itself. So yes, he had to admit the thought of what it might be like to kiss Ray had crossed his mind. It had crossed, and gone on its way, because that wasn’t what he really wanted from Ray, and it obviously wasn’t what Ray wanted from him. He knew perfectly well that Ray’s inclinations did not run along quite the same lines as his own. Ray was his best friend (admittedly, a best friend who often wanted to kill him, but that wasn’t important right now) and neither of them had much interest in complicating that with anything more – complicated. Of course he liked Ray very much, but you didn’t simply go around kissing people just because you liked them.

For a second, he watched his words glance off the surface of Ray’s irritation without making a dent, and wondered how he could possibly up the ante on that. Then a second later Ray did a double take and he could pinpoint the precise moment his meaning sunk in. It was actually fascinating to watch the various interpretations flit across his face, one after another. Fraser could see him thinking, _nah, that game’s gotta be a totally different thing up in Canada; no wait, it’s exactly the same game but Benny doesn’t know what the hell it is because he grew up with the polar bears; holy shit he_ does _know – is Benny…? Is he messing with me? He cannot be seriously suggesting –_

 

He braced himself.

 

But whatever conclusion Ray reached, it made him laugh out loud rather than explode.

“You know what Benny? Half of Chicago would take you up on that in a heartbeat. But luckily for you, I’m an ethical kind of guy. I mean I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong, but your virtue’s safe with me,” he said, and clapped him on the shoulder.

Fraser blinked at him. “I’m relieved to hear it, Ray.”

He hadn’t had time to predict how Ray was going to react; but if he had, this would not have been what he predicted. He would have expected more surprise, at the very least. Shock, possibly. He wouldn’t entirely have ruled out the risk of disgust.

“Although, you wanna know something? If we did, that’d be the _exact_ moment Huey and Louis would show up, just to make the embarrassment of this situation complete,” Ray continued.

“Indeed,” he agreed.

Ray flopped down to sit on one of the boxes and looked up at him.

“So look: I’m sorry. You’re right, I was being a jerk – we didn’t have a lot of options out there, you kept us alive, so I shouldn’t be complaining,” he said. “You were saying something about an idea to get us outta here?”

“Yes, Ray – I notice there’s a box of cleaning supplies…” he began, seating himself opposite Ray and feeling oddly relieved as he launched into the safety of an explanation of combustible compounds that could be made from bleach. He wasn’t quite sure if Ray had fully grasped all the implications of his slip, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. They had a door to break down, and a smuggling ring to apprehend. Personal…matters would just have to wait.

 

 

He managed not to worry about personal matters until after he had set off a very small, very controlled explosion with a vivid blue floor cleaner, illegal imported 95% vodka and a box of matches. It damaged the hinges of the door just enough for them to lever it out of its frame with a mop handle, call it in, and leave the crime-scene team combing the place for forensics as they headed back to the 27th to follow the paper trail.

In fact he assumed Ray had forgotten about it, until they were in the Riv on the way back to the station. They were waiting at a stoplight in companionable silence when Ray said,

“Benny?”

He turned to look at him. “Yes, Ray?”

“Did you tell me something back there?”

He froze in spite of himself, then carefully turned back to look out the windshield front of him.

“Back where?”

“When we were locked in the storeroom.” Ray’s voice was perfectly casual, but Fraser had heard him conduct entire interrogations in that casual voice.

“Well, I tried to tell you about Tsimshian meditation techniques.”

“After that,” Ray said.

“Not that I recall, Ray,” he hedged.

“Oh. Well. Ok then.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. And really, was this the slowest stoplight in all of Chicago? Why were they still stuck here?

Ray craned his head to look at the light, as if he was interested in nothing more than driving as efficiently as possible. Then he said,

“But, you know, if you _had_ told me something, or if you ever _did_ tell me something, I just wanted to be clear that I would be fine with that. I mean, I would appreciate a friend of mine sharing a confidence like that with me, even if that particular confidence was maybe not a – thing – I shared with that friend.”

 _Finally_ the light changed, and Ray took his foot off the brake and pulled away smoothly. Fraser didn’t say anything, and Ray continued, “And it goes without saying that that confidence would stay totally… in confidence, until such time as that friend indicated it didn’t need to be.”

It was ridiculous to feel so warmed by such a hypothetical statement, but he found that he was all the same. So much so that had to wait a second before speaking be sure his own voice would come out as casual as Ray’s. He didn’t look at Ray, and he could tell Ray wasn’t looking at him – Ray had his eyes on the road, calmly driving as if they were chatting about the weather. Streetlights flashed by on the city streets.

“I see,” he said finally, when he was sure he had himself completely under control. He found he had to clear his throat anyway. “Well, if I _had_ told you something, I would be very touched by your understanding, and your…acceptance. You’re a good friend, Ray.”

“Thank you, Fraser. So are you. Just so long as we understand each other.”

“I think we do.”

“Right.” He saw Ray give an expressive little tilt of his head. “And if part of that understanding could involve you not getting us locked in anywhere embarrassing for, say, the next few weeks, I would really appreciate that.”

“Right you are, Ray,” he said, and this time he trusted himself to look across at Ray and smile.

                      

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t that he made a habit of these things, but when he found himself locked in an underground storeroom with the second Ray Vecchio, he couldn’t repress a certain feeling of déjà vu.

The second Ray’s reactions weren’t quite as recriminatory as the first’s had been, as Fraser abandoned the stubbornly locked door and put his bleeding fingers in his mouth, but he could hear Ray’s breathing speeding up with incipient panic.

“So we’re stuck? If you can’t get it open, that means we’re stuck here, right?”

“For the time being, I’m afraid so, yes,” he said, aiming for the calmest tone he had at his disposal.

“Ok. Right.” Ray scrubbed his hands through his hair. “That’s not good, Fraser.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, Ray. We aren’t in any imminent danger: it’s perfectly well ventilated…”

“Kinda cosy though. Warm. Is it warm? Feels warm.”

Ray backed away a step and peeled his jacket off. Was it warm? It seemed to be, all of a sudden, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility that his nervous system was reacting to being trapped in a small space watching Ray pull his clothes off. But it was unethical in the extreme to let his thoughts stray in such a direction. He had to keep busy, not let himself think about the smell of Ray’s hair gel, his aftershave, and now that his coat was off, the clean sweet smell of his sweat…

Fraser shook his head and pressed his hands to the back wall.

“I think this wall adjoins the furnace room. That would explain the temperature.”

“Uh-huh. Furnace,” Ray echoed, clenching and unclenching his fists.

He had to keep talking, keep Ray distracted.

“But this box…” he bent to open it, “…appears to be full of soda, so we aren’t at any risk of dehydration.”

“Soda. Yeah. Ok - ” he broke off, took three steps to the door and three steps back to the wall like a wolf in a cage. “I don’t like small spaces, Frase. I get – whaddaya call it?”

“Claustrophobic?”

“Yeah. Claustrophobic. That’s it. ‘Cause there’s not a lot of room in here for two of us – aren’t you hot like that? You’re making me hot, looking at you wearing that coat.” His face twisted. “I just mean it’s really – red, right now.”

“It’s always red, Ray,” he said.

“Yeah well, it’s the light makes it redder, or the colour reflects the heat. Or something.” Ray sketched a rapid gesture in the air between them, apparently in illustration of the heat-magnifying qualities of his tunic. “Just take the damn thing off, would ya?”

It seemed a small concession to make for Ray’s comfort, despite the scientific improbability of his reasoning. But when he nodded and began unbuckling his Sam Browne and unbuttoning his tunic with Ray’s eyes on him, he found he was fighting another wave of heat. Ray couldn’t know the effect his gaze was having, and it would be making something out of nothing if he were to turn around. His fingers had become unaccountably clumsy under the scrutiny.

“Your hand’s bleeding,” Ray said.

He looked down.

“Oh. So it is.”

They both stared at his undeniably bleeding knuckles for a moment. Not knowing what else to do, Fraser finally raised his hand to his mouth again, but Ray caught his arm with a grimace.

“Lemme fix it for you. You got a – handkerchief, or something?”

He stared back at Ray blankly, completely derailed by that warm touch on his wrist.

“Handkerchief?” Ray repeated.

He cleared his throat and managed, “Saliva actually has well-documented antibacterial qualities, Ray…” but it sounded weak even to him.

Ray shook his head. “Yeah, well I’m not gonna sit here right next to you and watch you suck your fingers. I will not be responsible for my actions if you -” he took a deep breath, started again. “I mean, just lemme fix it for you. Gimme a handkerchief. You’ve always got a handkerchief.”

He did always have a handkerchief. It was in his left trouser pocket, and Ray was still holding his left wrist. For a moment he had no idea how to get it out: pulling away from Ray was out of the question – could he reach with his right hand?

Ray made a soft sound of apology and let go as he fumbled in his pocket wrong-handed. Should he use his newly-freed left hand? It hurt now that he was paying attention. Ray rolled his eyes at his wince and plucked the handkerchief out with deft fingers before Fraser had time to register what was happening. Then Ray had taken his hand again and secured the cloth round the graze calm as you like, as if they stood toe-to-toe and hand-in-hand every day.

“There. Fixed it,” he announced, as if Fraser might not have noticed.

“Thank you kindly, Ray,” he said. His voice was hoarse. Ray was still holding his hand.

Ray looked up from admiring his handiwork, and the dim light made his eyes glint darker than usual. Now more than ever it seemed rash to remove his tunic, but it _was_ very warm. At last Ray let go, and he shrugged the serge off.  For lack of anywhere better to put it, he tossed it to the floor next to Ray’s coat.

Ray went back to pacing, almost vibrating with – what? Frustration? Anxiety? Fear?

“How long you figure before anyone comes looking for us?”

“The end of your shift, I suppose,” he said, wishing he had a more reassuring answer.

“Huh. That ain’t till 8. How ‘bout you? Don’t the Ice Queen check up on you?”

“Not as a rule. She appears to trust that when I’m liaising with the Chicago Police Department I am gainfully employed.”

“So we got five hours to kill in here? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s hot. I’m too hot, Fraser.”

“Well, you’re generating extra body heat by moving around. Sit down, and visualise something cold,” he suggested.

Ray just stared at him, so he lead by example and sat on the floor, back to the wall.

“Ok then. Fine.” Ray flung himself down across from him, and stretched his legs out so that Fraser had to shift to make space for Ray’s boots between his feet.

The room seemed very small.

“Floor’s hard, Fraser,” Ray complained after a second.

“The floor nearly always is.” He paused, and added, “You can sit on my tunic, if you like.”

“Really?” Ray looked up, startled. It occurred to him that the fabric might smell like Ray, later.

“Yes, Ray.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I’m quite comfortable already. You take it.”

“Ok, well. Thanks.” He watched Ray settle himself on his tunic with a pang of something he couldn’t name. “So you gotta help me visualise something cold. Cold’s your thing, right? Tell me a story about the cold.”

So Fraser told him about the time Diefenbaker had saved him from Prince Rupert Sound and they’d both nearly frozen to death.

“Dief’s a good dog. Wolf. Whatever.”

“Yes he is, Ray.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna come get us out of here?”

“It’s not impossible, but he wouldn’t be expecting me back yet, so he wouldn’t know to miss us.”

“Yeah.” Ray sighed. “How long we been in here?”

“Half an hour.”

“So four and a half hours to go?” Ray looked like he was about to leap up and start climbing the walls.

“At least that, I would think.”

“Fuck.” Ray’s head thumped back against the wall hard enough to make Fraser wince.

There _had_ to be something he could suggest that would take Ray’s mind off it. But his own mind was an echoing blank, filled only with the things he shouldn’t be thinking and the things he shouldn’t be wanting.

“Have a soda, Ray,” he said in desperation. “It’s important to avoid dehydration - you appear to have stopped sweating, and...”

Ray’s eyes sprang open, as if he couldn’t quite believe the feebleness of the suggestion Fraser had just put forward.

“I’m sorry, Ray; I wish there was something I could do to help the time pass, but there really aren’t a lot of sources of distraction in here.”

Ray swallowed and looked away.

“Yeah, I know. Gimme a soda.”

Fraser pulled out his knife and snapped the top off a bottle; Ray’s eyes were on him when he reached out to hand it to him.

He drained half in one gulp, head tipped back to reveal the pure line of his throat. One drop escaped the corner of his mouth and ran down the blond stubble on his jaw. Ray appeared not to notice him watching, or if he did he said nothing, merely rubbed the back of his hand across his face and held the bottle out to Fraser.

“You finish it,” he said. Fraser took it, put his lips where Ray’s had been, and drank the rest.

“Now whadda we do?” Ray’s knee was pulled up, his foot jittering on the floor, fingers of both hands drumming on his lean thighs. Fraser could smell him still, now with a hint of leather as his shoulder holster warmed with his body heat.

He looked down at the bottle he still held, and the words came out before he could stop them.

“Spin the bottle?”

 

Ray’s head jerked up.

 

Time seemed to stop.

 

Ray’s eyes flicked between the bottle in Fraser’s hand and his face; bottle – face, bottle – face, bottle –

 

“Ok. Sure.”

“ _What?_ ” His ears must be playing tricks on him.

“I said yeah. C’mon.”

 Ray reached out, caught the bottle before he dropped it, pulled his other knee up, and placed it in the small space between their feet.

“You start.”

Fraser stared at him.

Had Ray guessed? Was he _mocking_ him? His head was slightly bowed, his posture almost shy – he didn’t _look_ like he was mocking anything. Even if he had guessed, he wouldn’t do _this_ would he? Ray did tease, but he didn’t taunt. He felt things too deeply to put this sort of planning into being cruel, surely? He might lash out, but he wouldn’t set a trap.

If this could help him to forget his claustrophobia and cope with their imprisonment – well, never mind that it was so close to what Fraser might have wanted from him. Ray was his friend, and if he could help him, then he would. It was his own fault for suggesting it. That would teach him to keep better control over his desires. He was perfectly capable of keeping a hold on himself through an adolescent game. He would have to.

Fraser’s hand was perfectly steady as he reached out to set the bottle spinning.

He counted five rotations before it stopped, horizontal, and pointing at neither of them. They both looked up at the same time and their eyes met.

Ray shrugged; Fraser gestured wordlessly at him to take his turn.

Ray held his gaze for a second longer before leaning in and setting off a careful spin with a flick of his index finger.

It spun once, and twice, and came to rest with the neck almost touching Fraser’s foot, the base perfectly in line with Ray.

Again they looked up in synchrony.

Ray cleared his throat.

“Uh, I shoulda said – I practiced a lot, in high school. I mean, maybe it’s cheating, ‘cause I didn’t tell you…”

Fraser shook his head.

“That’s ok, Ray.” He tried to smile like he didn’t mind either way – accident or design, it hardly mattered, did it? It was only a game.

His nonchalance must have fallen flat, because Ray looked perfectly serious as he leaned forward, like he was paying careful attention to something.

“Ok, well…” he breathed when they were inches apart, and then his hand was on Fraser’s shoulder, his head tilted, and he was pressing a gentle close-mouthed kiss to Fraser’s lips before pulling away again.

There was a question on Ray’s face when Fraser opened his eyes again. When had he closed his eyes? Damn his heart for beating so fast – he could do this for Ray, everything was _fine_.

Ray cleared his throat. “Your go,” he said.

 

Fraser’s next spin stopped diagonally between them.

 

Ray’s was perhaps five degrees off true.

 

Fraser could feel Ray’s eyes on him as he spun again; and again the bottle stopped at a diagonal. His heart was racing still. It was all he could do to keep his breathing from going fast and shallow.

 

Ray huffed out a breath of what might have been frustration, and Fraser watched him set the bottle spinning only for his hand to dart out and catch it, leaving it pointing square at the two of them.

 

His hand didn’t move until Fraser looked up. Ray was watching him, shoulders tense and chin raised almost defiantly, as if daring him to call cheat.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then could think of nothing to say under that raw gaze.

“Yeah?” Ray asked softly, still not moving a muscle.

There was only one possible answer to that. He didn’t know why Ray was doing this, but if it could possibly distract him from their predicament, Fraser was honour-bound to help him.

He nodded once.

“Yes, Ray.”

Then Ray moved towards him as if in slow motion.

This time his kiss wasn’t close-mouthed; Ray wasn’t mocking him, Ray wasn’t playing games – Ray was kissing him like he meant it. Fraser opened his mouth and kissed him back; tried to kiss him back with just the right degree of enthusiasm to convey his full consent and enjoyment, but without betraying anything more intense that had no place here.

It wasn’t going to work.

Not now Ray’s hands were on him -  Ray was twisting them and pushing him down until he was flat on his back on the floor, Ray warm and heavy on top of him, pinning him down. It all seemed to happen in one smooth movement, as if Ray had rearranged gravity with that push. A corner of his mind managed to wonder if this was what dancing with Ray must feel like – he had tried not to think about it, but he _had_ imagined kissing Ray, and had somehow thought it would be more – frantic?  Nervous? Not this confident downward slide, this – oh! – warm hand untucking his shirt and gliding up the sensitive skin of his ribs. But why _was_ he surprised? Ray was so obviously attractive, he must have sexual partners for the asking, any number of people to kiss. Fraser was the one who hadn’t done this for years, who hadn’t had a hand on bare skin in affection in so long that Ray’s touch seemed to be creating his body anew.

He put his arms around Ray, reaching under his shirt in turn, up to bury his hands in Ray’s hair as they deepened the kiss, then down to his ass to pull him closer.

He heard himself moan as Ray’s hips rocked against his, and Ray shifted so that he could stroke him through his clothes.

“Oh yeah, you’re – can I – please, I wanna…” the end of Ray’s sentence got lost in a kiss; he had no idea what Ray was trying to ask. But if this was going to be his only chance, he would let Ray do anything he wanted. He was going to give himself away, he knew that now, but the die was cast, there was no going back. Ray couldn’t mistake his reactions or doubt what his touch was doing to Fraser, so why pretend?

Then Ray was unbuttoning his pants, fumbling with the zipper, pushing his shirt up and moving down his body to kiss his belly – his intention was unmistakable. If he let Ray do this it would all be over in seconds, he should roll them over and do something for Ray first, he should –

But Ray had vanquished the zipper, moved his underwear aside, was touching him, was saying, “Wanted to do this for _so long_ , Fraser…” and taking his cock into his mouth.

Somebody moaned and he didn’t even know which of them it was until Ray made a small pleased sound in response and Fraser realised it must have been him. Ray’s mouth on him was all hot, sweet pleasure – Ray knew what he was doing, Ray had done this before. Ray was unravelling him when this was supposed to be for _Ray’s_ benefit, and he couldn’t do anything but lie there and take it. Ray had taken over, he would let Ray do whatever he wanted to him; and it was that realisation that tipped him over the edge.

He pushed at Ray’s shoulders in desperation, and saw him lift his head just as the orgasm hit and his cock pulsed in Ray’s fist. He couldn’t help but cry out as Ray stroked him through it, murmuring “Yeah, yeah, yeah, like that, go on….”

Ray must be watching him, Ray must know – pushing him off had been a terrible mistake, he was coming apart, it had been so long and he had no defences left at all against Ray. This was what he wanted. He was only going to have it once, and it was already over. It was more than he could bear.

For an awful moment he thought he was going to cry, and that Ray would see. He just couldn’t stand to have Ray’s pity, not now, he couldn’t –

He reached out for Ray and pulled him up into a kiss, _anything_ to distract him.

“Let me - ” he said against Ray’s mouth, reaching between them for Ray’s belt, his button fly. Ray lifted himself up on one arm to let him do it, and gasped as Fraser’s hand closed around his erection.

“Yeah, touch me, I’m gonna - ” he panted. His breath came harsh against Fraser’s face for three strokes, four – and then he was coming, gasping out his pleasure, face transformed by it. He clasped his hand over Fraser’s and shuddered as their joined hands pumped him, both wet with his come.

At last he let go and collapsed on top of Fraser, worming his clean hand under his shoulders in an awkward half embrace. He was breathing hard still, pressing kisses into Fraser’s neck, his jaw, his temple, and Fraser almost let it lull him.

 

 

He lost track of how long they lay there, but the instant he felt the minute tensing of Ray’s muscles telegraph his intention to move, he was holding on tight. He couldn’t get purchase on Ray’s thin t-shirt, but he was still wearing his holster and Fraser gripped it with both hands in desperation. He just needed another minute to pull himself together; if Ray would only stay where he was, face buried safely in his shoulder, and not ask him anything, just for a _minute_ , he would be alright.

Ray struggled against him just for a second, then said a soft, “Oh,” and relaxed on to him again. He went back to kissing Fraser’s jaw, the sensitive spot below his ear, rubbing his thumb hypnotically against the back of his neck...

“Fraser,” he said, still soft like he was trying not to frighten someone.

Fraser loosened his grip slightly. Just a minute. He wasn’t going to cry. That would be absurd; he was a grown man, he couldn’t possibly be feeling like this over such a brief encounter, the sort of thing that happened in locker rooms between men like them the world over; they were _friends_ , it would be _fine_.

“Fraser. Fraser, listen…” Ray was murmuring in his ear. “I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t’ve let it happen like this, like a stupid game. But I wanted you so bad, and when you said – I couldn’t – Ben, it’s ok…”

Ray had never called him Ben before.

“I mean, I know what this looks like, but you never let on before, that you’d be interested in this – I thought it was just me...”

“What?” he managed to ask the top of Ray’s head.

“But if it’s not just me, if it’s both of us, it’s ok, right? If we both want this, we’re good, y’know? Frase, I wanna - I want so much with you, you have no idea...I want to do this again - like, on purpose. I want you to come home with me, I...”

Ray’s thumb never stopped stroking the back of his neck.

“S’okay Fraser. We’re ok. We can do this. Say we can do this. Ben? Please?”

Ray’s mouth moved warm over his jaw.

“Alright, Ray,” he said, and closed his eyes very very tight, and held on to Ray even tighter.

 

* * *

 

 

On the third day of Ray and Stella’s visit, an unseasonal blizzard transformed the outside world into a wall of white and left them housebound.

Their visitors were at first alarmed, then fascinated by the sheer force of the weather, and by early evening slightly bored. Their cabin was quite large enough for four adults, but all the same Fraser hadn’t counted on spending so much time trapped indoors with Ray Kowalski’s ex-wife. He had faced an inner struggle before raising the question of the visit with either Ray; his desire to spend time with his old partner warring with his instinct to keep his current more-than partner a safe thousand miles away from the woman he had been in love with for 20 years.

But when he brought it up, Ray Kowalski had said at once,

“Yeah, sure, ‘course you should invite ‘em both. I mean, if he’d invited you to go visit but told you not to bring me, that woulda been kinda weird, right?”

“Yes it would,” he agreed.

“I mean, I bet that’s what he wanted to do, but he didn’t. So, y’know, I’m not gonna do it either. Stella can come.”

So Stella was invited along with Ray Vecchio, and Stella came along with Ray Vecchio.  Once they were there, Fraser found, she seemed quite different from the woman he’d not really known in Chicago. This woman wasn’t the Stella who blew hot and cold with Ray Kowalski and made cutting remarks to him at the station; this was Stella Vecchio, smiling, suntanned, obviously in love with the first Ray. She and Ray Kowalski were relaxed and easy with each other, and for the first time Fraser found he could imagine the teenage best friends they had been before they were teenage sweethearts.

But that didn’t mean he was entirely at ease spending the day with both Rays and Stella in such close quarters. The Rays were still wary with each other, as if they both knew too much about the other but were pretending not to, and direct communication would have undermined the charade. He and Stella didn’t have a great deal to say to each other either, which left them with an uncomfortable logic puzzle of conversation and people to avoid leaving alone in a room with each other that he personally was finding quite exhausting.

 

“What do you guys _do_ all winter when it snows like this?” Ray Vecchio asked eventually, a certain note of petulance in his voice.

Fraser knew he was being indiscreet, but he couldn’t help catching Ray Kowalski’s eye in time to see one of his most lascivious smiles break out. He coughed and Ray Kowalski laughed.

Ray Vecchio pulled a face at them. “Oh please, spare me. What are you, 16?”

He gave him one of his blandest looks, ignoring Ray Kowalski’s foot reaching out to rub his ankle under the table.

“No, I’m 37, Ray. And to answer your question - we read, we watch films, we play Monopoly…”

“Like _that’s_ a good idea when you’re trapped in an isolated house by a blizzard. Did you never see The Shining?”

“The shining what, Ray?” he asked, and Ray Kowalski’s grin widened.

“Oh, you think that’s cute, do you?” There was a beginning of belligerence in Ray Vecchio’s tone.

“What, you don’t?” Ray Kowalski slouched even further back in his chair, positively exuding provocation.

For a moment it looked like the rivalry he’d glimpsed in Chicago was about to bubble over, and he raced through his repertoire for a suitably distracting story. But Stella’s laugh brought them all up short.

“What?” He felt a twinge of guilt at the whine in Ray Vecchio’s voice: perhaps it wasn’t fair to tease him in front of his wife.

“Oh, come on Ray. That is a bit cute, isn’t it?” she said, coming up behind her husband’s chair to slide her arms around his neck. “To think I used to take you at face value before, Ben.”

“Told ya,” Ray Kowalski said. “Don’t play poker with the Mountie, is my advice to you. Although that’s a risk I take in the winter, being a crazy, wild living kinda guy.”

“Really? You guys play poker?” Stella asked, head on one side.

“For candy,” Fraser pointed out quickly.

“Nah, candy is just to keep score. We play to settle, uh - stuff. You know.” He turned to Fraser. “Ain’t that right?”

“Ah, yes Ray. That’s right.”

And Ray had set him up for that one perfectly, he couldn’t deny it.

 

Because the last time they had played poker, Ray had said exactly that _: the candy’s just to keep score, ok?_ and placed his now-decommissioned police handcuffs on the table between them.

And not said anything.

And not said anything.

And not said anything, until he was sitting in front of an uncharacteristically huge pile of Smarties, (which, allowing for the way he kept eating them, was really saying something) and Fraser was down to his last handful. Then Ray finally said,

“You can raise the stakes -” and nodded towards the handcuffs, acknowledging them for the first time. “If you want.”

His mouth went dry, and the low buzz of arousal that had been making him lose all along caught fire so fast he might have let out a gasp.

“If I win, I get to use ‘em on you, ok?”

Oh God. How did Ray _know_? How could Ray just come out and _say_ it?

“Yes. Ok,” he agreed, and shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his jeans.

Ray gave him a knowing smile that did nothing at all to help, and dealt the cards.

For an agonising minute he gazed at his cards and didn’t know if he wanted to win or lose. But either Ray was cheating, or his concentration had been terminally compromised by the stakes (which amounted to the same thing, really), because it was all over very quickly, and he lost.

Then Ray was pushing the table aside and coming to sit astride him, handcuffs dangling so they rested on his shoulder as Ray kissed him. Kissed him surprisingly gently, then whispered in his ear,

“You sure you wanna? ‘Cause I _really_ do, but, uh, only if you do...”

He was too turned on to even form a sentence, but he pulled back so they were looking into each other’s eyes and nodded his assent.

Ray’s smile was so brilliant he found words after all.

“I’m sure,” he said.

 

Stella and Ray Vecchio were looking at him curiously as he tried very hard not to remember any more about the last time he and Ray had played poker.

“You used to be pretty good too,” Ray was saying to Stella. “You still play ever?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Why, you want to play? For candy? If you guys have stuff to settle maybe that can wait for another night.”

“Hey, sure - we got nothing to settle at the moment, do we, Frase? How about it, Vecchio? You any good?”

“Please,” Ray snorted. “I was undercover in Las Vegas for two years, playing poker every day while you were making eyes at the Mountie.”

Ray Kowalski’s head whipped round at that, but before he could make anything of it, Ray added, “Which was a good deed he did there, Benny, I hope you realise that. Not many people would come to live up here in a blizzard just for you and your pretty blue eyes.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d ever noticed my eyes, Ray.”

“Nah, but people talk about you.”

Ray Kowalski reached over to brush an imaginary speck off Fraser's shirt.

“Yeah, they do,” he agreed.

 

Stella dealt the cards with a smooth assured hand, and within an hour had a small mountain of candy and pieces of dried pasta in front of her.

“You do know it’s your fault I can’t get into this game, don’t you?” Ray Vecchio said to her, eyes soft.

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“Well, I’m still too busy trying to impress you, and it seems to me that card sharking isn’t the way to do that…”

She leaned over to kiss him, smiling.

“I’ve got your number. You’re trying to distract me with the Italian charm, aren’t you?”

“Is it working?”

“Oh, please,” muttered Ray Kowalski. “Yeah, you’re irresistible, Vecchio. Now are we playing poker here or are we flirting?”

“I don’t see why those have to be mutually exclusive, Ray,” said Stella. “Don’t you remember Annie and Paul, that time at the Levinski’s?”

Ray Kowalski laughed at the shared memory, and Fraser was suddenly sharply jealous. Irrationally, unreasonably jealous in a way he never wanted Ray to know, and he threw himself into the game so as not to dwell on it.

 

He was so effective that in another hour he had most of the pasta in front of him. The candy had largely been eaten and replaced by dried foodstuffs of equivalent symbolic value but less instant appeal to the palate.

Across the table Stella grinned a challenge at him. He met her eye in acknowledgement for a split second before looking away.

“I see what Ray meant,” she said. “You’re very good. Does Ray ever actually win when you two play?”

He shivered at the memory of the handcuffs on the table between them.

“Sometimes,” he said in his blandest voice, and elected not to notice Ray’s predatory smile.

“Yeah. Sometimes he gets distracted. By stuff,” Ray said.

Ray Vecchio looked up. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“What sort of stuff?”

Rationally, he knew Ray would never as long as he lived betray his confidence in such an intimate matter. He had never breathed a word to Fraser about what he and Stella had done together, except to express in a most general sense that he had liked it very much. Even that had only been in illustration of his point that “I could be sexually attracted to anyone in the world, Ben – I did not go for you just because you were _there_. Being open minded like I happen to be, if all I wanted was a warm body in my bed, I would not have had to come all the way to Buttfuck, Canada to find one. So shut up, ok?”

Still, it was a relief to hear him say,

“Oh, you know Frase. Law enforcement procedures. Recipes involving lichen. The usual.”

A silent question seemed to go around the table as the two Rays exchanged glances that he pretended not to see. Ray Vecchio sat back and looked at his cards, then back up at Ray Kowalski.

Then he asked in his oh-so-casual investigation voice:

“So Benny, you never told me how you guys got together,” and Fraser understood perfectly what Ray and Ray were doing: they were trying to distract him from the game. Between the two of them, they certainly knew his weaknesses, and Ray Vecchio had just gone right for the jugular. But he didn’t need to let him _know_ that right away.

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. “Raise you 10 of the fusilli.”

Stella tossed pasta pieces into the middle of the table to match him.

“Is this story suitable for a mixed audience?” she asked, looking between her current and her ex-husband and then over to Ben. The note of warning was clear in her voice.

“Yeah, course it is,” said Ray Kowalski. “I don’t put out on the first date.”

Well _that_ wasn’t true,  but the lie certainly raised the stakes. If Ray was prepared to tell this story in front of Stella, he must be more determined to win than Fraser had thought. Or more determined to see him lose, which perhaps wasn’t quite the same thing.

“Well, feel free to tell it if you’d like, Ray,” he said, not looking up from his cards. If Ray was bluffing, he would call him on it.

There was no answer, and when he looked up Ray was sprawled back in his chair all easy provocation, grinning at him with a toothpick in his mouth. Fraser raised his eyebrows at him.

“Nah, Vecchio’s your buddy, he wants to hear it from you. I’m just the arm-candy,” he said.

That deserved a full eye-roll, and Fraser let him have one.

Then he turned to Ray Vecchio and cleared his throat.

“Ah, well, we got locked in a janitor’s storeroom, Ray…”

“Yeah, that sounds familiar,” Ray Vecchio muttered.

“…and Ray was becoming increasingly claustrophobic, so I, um, I made a suggestion that I thought might distract him, take his mind off our predicament…”

He was perfectly capable of telling this story, but it wouldn’t hurt for them to think he was more uncomfortable than he really was, would it? He was quite at ease telling his closest friend about the moment that had begun such a happy stage in his life. That wasn’t so hard to do. Other people talked about this sort of thing all the time – he had heard them do it. Light-hearted stories of first kisses, all the past terror of the moment of reaching out transmogrified into the relative security of the present. A mutual acknowledgement of feelings culminating in an embrace, the beginning of an established, publicly recognised relationship – of course people told each other these things. It cemented a couple, to share their history; it bonded them to their friends, to be trusted to hear it.

He cleared his throat again.

“And Ray agreed to – to my suggestion - ”

“You are actually making this sound way more inappropriate than it was, which I didn’t think was the way you were gonna go,” interrupted Ray. “If you don’t say what the suggestion was, they are gonna be imagining something totally depraved.”

“I suggested we play spin the bottle,” he explained reluctantly.

“No _way!_ ” Ray Vecchio burst out. Fraser was painfully aware that Stella must already know all about Ray Kowalski’s bottle-spinning prowess, and carefully addressed himself to Ray Vecchio to avoid seeing her reaction.

“And so we – did, and after that it seemed undeniable that there were certain – feelings, between us, and there you have it,” he concluded, aware that the end of the story was possibly weak.

“Benny. You practiced your _lines_ on me?”

“It wasn’t a _line_ , Ray!” he objected.

“You used me to practice your lines! I cannot believe you!”

“Wait, you played spin the bottle with Vecchio too?”

“Of course I didn’t!”

“You and Vecchio? You kissed Vecchio?”

“No I _didn’t_ , Ray! On one occasion, I merely suggested the first distraction that came into my head to get his attention and calm him down, and since we were surrounded by hundreds of bottles, that happened to be spin the bottle!”

“Which I politely declined,” Ray Vecchio explained to Stella, who appeared to be trying to hide a smile.

“And he politely declined, which is what I expected you to do as well, Ray – I never thought you’d actually agree to it! Well, I didn’t think about it at all, to be quite honest, so I can’t say that I really expected any outcome over another, but - ”

“You went with your gut,” Ray said, sounding almost proud. 

“I – yes. I didn’t plan to, mind…”

“It ain’t going with your gut if you plan it, Ben.”

“Well that is a beautiful, beautiful story,” Ray Vecchio interrupted, reaching out to take Stella’s hand. “I mean, we just went out for dinner like normal people, but I know Benny doesn’t like to things the easy way.”

“That he does not,” agreed Ray Kowalski.

“I am sitting right here.”

 

Stella came to his rescue. Not that he needed rescuing.

“Come on, you two – are we playing poker here, or trying to make Ben feel uncomfortable?”

“I don’t see why those have to be mutually exclusive, Stel,”

“Ray…” she said, that warning note in her voice again. Fraser didn’t need anyone to defend him, but he appreciated her efforts to keep the game on track.

He appreciated them, that was, until he realised the stakes on this hand had risen so high that the game would effectively be over when they revealed their cards; and when they did so, that Stella held a winning hand – a full house, queens over aces.

He leaned back and laughed as she raked all the pasta pieces in.

“Well. That would appear to be that.”

Ray Vecchio was gazing at her in rapture.

“Wow. Stella. Baby. You just _played_ us! I have never been more in love than I am right now.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. I mean our wedding day was great, don’t get me wrong, but watching you wipe the floor with two cops and a Mountie -  who is a lot more devious than he looks - is really something else.” He slid to his knees beside her chair, held both her hands in his. “I mean it. I’m gonna write _poetry_ about this moment. Serenade you. The works.”

“Yeah ok, there are decent people here who don’t need to hear this kind of filth, Vecchio. But that was good play, Stel.”

“I’ve still got it,” she agreed. “But now, gentlemen, it is nearly midnight and I am going to cash in my winnings and go to bed.”

She stood up, and Ray Vecchio scrambled to his feet after her with a wince as his knees cracked. Ray Kowalski laughed at him.

“Goodnight, Stel.” He leaned in to kiss Stella’s cheek, stage whispering: “I can’t believe you beat Ben!”

Fraser glared at him.

Ray Vecchio drew Stella close with an arm about her shoulders. “You’re amazing.”

It would have been rude to roll his eyes, but something must have showed because Ray Vecchio clapped him on the shoulder.

“Benny, you are _such_ a sore loser.”

“Stop teasing him. You’re not helping me be a gracious winner,” Stella told him.

“You don’t need my help, you’re perfect already.”

Fraser would have thought that was laying it on a bit thick, but Stella was gazing up at Ray adoringly. He was forced to conclude, and not for the first time, that really didn’t know the first thing about women.

Happily, though, he had a fairly good handle on Ray Kowalski.

 

 

Fraser waited until the door had closed behind the Vecchios and he could no longer hear Ray’s voice saying, “No, but seriously, you have no idea how much I...”

Then he grabbed Ray Kowalski.

Ray yelped, taken by surprise, and put up only a token struggle as Fraser pushed him the few steps down the hall to the bedroom. He let himself be strong-armed across the threshold before landing an unexpected (and frankly _sneaky_ ) jab to a ticklish spot on Fraser's ribs and pulling away. But his heart clearly wasn’t in it, because Fraser caught him again a second later. There was a brief tussle until he had Ray up against the wall, his wrists pinned next to his head, his whole body pressed against Ray’s to hold him still. Ray relaxed and let himself be held there, grinning.

“You did that _deliberately.”_ Fraser didn’t try to stop the growl from sounding in his voice, and bit Ray’s neck for good measure.

Ray shivered and spread his legs to rock against Fraser’s thigh.

“Did what?” Ray was gratifyingly breathless; warm and willing in Fraser’s arms, already hard in his jeans. His eyes fluttered closed as Fraser released one of his wrists to stroke him.

“Distracted me from the game.”

“Yeah, kinda... Uh - _yeah,_ like that - sorry,” Ray panted as his grip tightened. He didn’t _sound_ sorry, but that didn’t seem like a reason to stop. It seemed like a reason to keep going, in fact, and Fraser took advantage of his inattention to pull him away from the wall and tumble them onto the bed.

He landed on top of Ray, holding him down, letting him feel who had the weight advantage here.

“Isn’t that - oh...” Ray thrust up against him and he almost lost his train of thought, “ah - cheating?”

“Whatcha gonna do, arrest me?”

“No, I’m going to fuck you,” and not having to filter his impulses around Ray was almost as much of a thrill as saying the words themselves.

Ray gasped under him. “Yeah, oh _yeah_ , that’s - you’re - wait, I gotta - ” until Fraser cut him off by kissing him, hard, pressing his head back into the bed.

He realised what Ray meant a second later when he thrust into Ray’s belt buckle and it _hurt_.

“Ow!”

“Get off, lemme - ” Ray was pushing him away to pull his clothes off, and he sat back to do the same. He was faster than Ray, and caught him off balance with his jeans stuck on one ankle as he pushed him back down. Ray landed with a surprised huff of breath and stayed down, smirking up at him.

It didn’t feel like a game anymore, but bless Ray for still smiling, telling him he hadn’t pushed too far.

“Turn over,” he said, sitting back up, and Ray rolled over like there was nothing to it. That was just one of the things he admired about Ray, in fact: that he could do that. Lie down for him, roll over, cry out his pleasure, whisper _I love you_ , then get up and be the same man he was before. As though he hadn’t given anything up, and there was nothing to be afraid of.

He was a little afraid of that kind of trust, with Ray face down and stretched out for him. But Ray wasn’t afraid, clearly – he got a knee under him, raising his hips in invitation.

“So fuck me, c’mon...”

He looked up over his shoulder, eyes dark, then pushed himself up on all fours to reach for the lube.

Fraser pushed him back down and Ray’s breathless laugh was muffled by the bed. He leaned over Ray to the nightstand to grab the tube himself, his thighs against Ray’s, his chest to Ray’s back, letting his weight come down in a delicious slide of bare skin.

Ray moaned and pushed back against him.

“Ben, do it now, do me. Come on, I want you to...”

The laugh had gone out of his voice now; there was just wanting, and that was what Fraser couldn’t resist, finally. He knew, as he made Ray writhe on his slick fingers, that he was doing more than making love to him. He was staking a claim; admitting jealousy; losing control, even. And as he slid in, panting against Ray’s neck at how good it was, Ray’s hand was reaching back to pull him closer, and his half-closed eyes and soft gasps were telling him he _could_.

Ray spread his legs even wider and it was Fraser’s turn to gasp as he sank all the way in to the tight clasp of his body. Normally he tried to do this sweetly, slowly, for Ray’s benefit, but this time he _couldn’t_. He just couldn’t: it took him over and carried him away. He fucked Ray hard, held onto him hard, until the selfish thrill of Ray strong and pliant and just _letting_ him was too much to resist, and he was coming with a final thrust into Ray’s body.

The force of it left him shaking and breathless and it took him a moment to realise Ray hadn’t come yet; he had just _used_ him -

“Oh Ray, I’m sorry...” he began, pulling out and rolling Ray over to face him.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Ray said, voice still blurred with passion. “Just, please, you gotta - ”

He raised one hand to cup Fraser’s face, gripped his erection with the other, offering it.

“Yes,” he breathed, sliding down Ray’s body to take his cock in his mouth in one swift movement. He couldn’t resist pushing Ray’s knee up, letting his shaking fingers press inside where he was still wet and open, stroking that silken heat. Ray cried out and bore down on his fingers then bucked up into his mouth.

He got lost in it the rhythm of it, in Ray’s cock sliding thick and hard between his lips, the needy sounds he wrung out of him. He felt a fierce stab of regret when Ray’s grip tightened in his hair and he gave a moan that was almost a sob and his cock jerked and pulsed in Fraser’s mouth.

 

When Ray started to soften he sat up and leaned over him, trying to see his face in the dark. He was sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo, smiling faintly.

“Ray...”

“Mmm?” Ray didn’t open his eyes.

“Ray, I - ”

“If you say you’re sorry, I swear I’m gonna - uh - well, ok, I’m not gonna do anything that means needing to move, so just don’t, ok?”

Fraser sat back.

“Not over there. C’mere.”

Ray was apparently prepared to countenance movement under certain circumstances, because he reached out to pull Fraser down next to him and tug his arm across his chest.

“There,” Ray mumbled, turning his head just enough to kiss the side of Fraser’s mouth. “S’better. _Now_ I’m never gonna move again.”

Fraser ran his hand down Ray’s side, felt his heart beating, the rise and fall of his breathing as it gradually slowed.

“Are you ok?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Oh yeah. I am very ok. I’m extremely ok. You?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.. I just worried that - that I let myself get carried away...”

“Mm. Liked that. You should get carried away more often. You’re hot when you’re pushy...” the end of his sentence was lost in a yawn.

“You want me to get you a washcloth?”

“Yeah. In a minute. Just stay there a minute, huh?”

It was rather longer than a minute before Ray shifted in his embrace with a small sound of discomfort.

“Oh. Sticky,” he said ruefully.

“I’ll get you a cloth, Ray,” Fraser said sitting up. “I’ll be right back.”

 

 

He was sticky too, but he was glad he’d pulled his shorts on when the bathroom door opened and he almost collided with Ray Vecchio.

“Whoa, sorry Benny!”

“Sorry, Ray.”

They both stepped left, then both stepped right, trying to let the other pass. He smiled at the picture they must make: two men dancing around each other in the dark hallway. There was enough light to make out that Ray too was only wearing his underwear, and he appeared flushed - was it too warm in the guest bedroom? Surely it couldn’t be. Then why -

Ray grinned at him conspiratorially as if reading his mind.

“Benny, I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I am beginning to see the appeal of Canadian winters.”

“Oh. _Oh!_ ” was all he found to say to that.

“Yeah, don’t tell me - you know all about it. I can see that.” Ray’s eyes flicked up and down to indicate his state of undress.

“Well, I - ” he realised it was probably better to maintain a discreet silence, and let his sentence trail off.

Ray just chuckled in the face of his embarrassment and gripped his bare shoulders for a second to steer them past each other.

“Good night, Benny,” he said. “Get back to bed, huh?”

“Yes. Ok. Goodnight, Ray,” he echoed stupidly.

Then he ducked in and out of the bathroom as fast as he could, and padded back down the hall to where Ray Kowalski was waiting for him.

 

 

Ray’s clean-up was perfunctory, and then he was pulling Fraser back into bed with him, settling them spooned together with his back to Fraser’s chest. Not satisfied, he squirmed back until they were flush against each other, and Fraser’s arm was tight round his waist.

“Y’ok?”

“Me? I’m fine, Ray.”

“Sure?”

“Of course.”

“Storm’ll clear overnight, right?” Ray sounded half asleep now. “We can get out tomorrow. Be ok.”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Good. Greatness.” He yawned. “Go for a walk. Outdoors. Going kinda stir crazy, all of us in here...”

Fraser kissed the back of his neck. “Me too. We’ll get out tomorrow. Walk for miles, if you like.”

“Yeah. Walk for miles...”

Then he really was asleep, his breathing deep and even, his hand gone lax on Fraser’s arm. Tomorrow they would go out on the new snow, see the angle of sun rising ever higher in the sky, and walk for as far as their legs would carry them.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a brilliant Softer World remix by Lirulin on Tumblr: http://astheshadowslovethecastle.tumblr.com/image/50546483934
> 
> And yes, I have asked myself if an idea that was expressed so successfully in 3 frames and 3 lines of text really needed to be turned into 10,000 words of fic. But I've written it now - I can't un-write it, can I? I'll just have to let it go and move on, with the traditional defensive author's note that is becoming my hallmark.


End file.
